


cake by the ocean

by orphan_account



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6722416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas hears footsteps make their way into the living room, and Minho’s roommate slowly walks into view. “Hi, nice to finally meet...” He sees Thomas standing there in shock and his greeting trails off. “Oh, bloody hell.” </p><p>“What the fuck?” All in all, Thomas has no idea why he’s so surprised, considering how much of a joke his life has been recently. “Your name is <i>Newt</i>?” he demands, eyes locked on Hot Blonde Guy. “What kind of name is <i>that</i>?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	cake by the ocean

The only thing Thomas likes about working part-time at the neighborhood supermarket is that it introduced him to Hot Blonde Guy. 

Okay, fine, so it’s not the _only_ reason. His co-worker, Sonya, is kind of awesome, and their supervisor, Janson, is usually too busy sneaking cigarettes out in the back alley to check up on them. Plus, since Thomas only works part-time, his hours are pretty flexible. The only downside to this is that, being a student, he usually gets stuck with the night shifts. Which means that instead of falling asleep during his morning classes because he’d been partying too hard the night before, he finds himself dozing off because he’d been too busy trying to stack cereal boxes in alphabetical order. Despite everything, though, Hot Blonde Guy is still _definitely_ at the top of his (to-do) list. 

The first time Thomas saw Hot Blonde Guy was during a particularly boring Tuesday night shift. He was standing in aisle nine, turning pasta sauce jars around so that their labels faced outward, and when the bell overhead the front door jingled, Thomas spun around, spirits rising slightly at the momentary break from the monotony of his task, and found himself looking right at the man of his dreams. 

His future husband was a skinny guy in skinny jeans with a leather jacket slung over one arm and blonde hair that practically glowed in the fluorescent lighting of the shop. Thomas kind of wanted to run his hands through it. He walked past Thomas into the next aisle, but not before shooting Sonya, who was working the register at the time, a smile that brought out the slight dimple in his cheek and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Thomas had no idea what humanity did to deserve such perfection, but, _hot damn_ , he was so glad he was here to witness it. 

Needless to say, Thomas walked home that night with stars in his eyes and the image of a blonde boy burned into his mind. His job had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.

—

Due to the sporadic nature of his work schedule, Thomas only sees Hot Blonde Guy a few more times after their first encounter. During these rare moments, Thomas usually just follows the guy around, watching him from the back aisles like some kind of stalker. One notable time, Thomas had tried to find something to do in whatever section Hot Blonde Guy had been standing in, and that had inevitably led to Thomas dropping a huge tub of detergent powder on his foot when Hot Blonde Guy reached up to grab a bottle of fabric softener off the top shelf, his shirt riding up just enough to expose a hint of pale skin to a hot and bothered Thomas. 

One day, Thomas is sweeping the floor near the drinks section of the supermarket, and when he hears the familiar sound of a customer entering the shop, he looks up and is rewarded by another spectacular view of Hot Blonde Guy. But this time, he’s also wearing _Aviators_. There’s also a cellphone pressed to his ear, which is lost on Thomas as he struggles to comprehend how someone can still look so good with half their face covered up, but all this disappears as soon as Hot Blonde Guy walks past him, saying, “Yeah, thanks, Min, I got it,” into his phone, and Thomas nearly has an aneurysm on the spot because Hot Blonde Guy is _British_. (And, wow, Thomas feels like a teenage girl swooning over a guy with an accent the way Brenda does with the guys from One Direction, but, well, thinking about it now, Thomas _would_ actually do Harry Styles if given the chance, so maybe there’s something to be said about that.) 

Thomas is so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice Hot Blonde Guy make his way down the aisle Thomas is standing in until he’s a foot away from him, fingers plucking a box of cigarettes off the shelf. Thomas zones in on the carton in Hot Blonde Guy’s hands, trying (and failing) not to imagine a cigarette dangling from his lips, the way Hot Blonde Guy’s mouth would look like encircled around the end of the stick. 

He must have been staring pretty intensely, because Hot Blonde Guy finally looks straight at him, one corner of his mouth twisting upward into a smirk, and he moves right into Thomas’ space and goes, “Live fast and die young, I always say,” while waving the box in front of Thomas’ startled face. Before Thomas can do anything, Hot Blonde Guy walks off in the opposite direction leaving Thomas… Well, leaving him pretty turned on, to be honest. But he’s also really fucking confused. 

After a few minutes of trying to calm his breathing, Thomas decides that trying to do any more work at the moment is a lost cause, and he goes off to take his break. When he walks around to the back alley, Thomas finds Janson steadily making his way through his second pack of the day, and stands beside him, leaning against the brick wall and briefly closing his eyes. (And if Thomas spends the whole fifteen minutes pretending the secondhand smoke he’s inhaling belongs to someone else, that’s nobody’s business but his own.)

—

Yet another reason why Thomas doesn’t mind his job is that it gives him something to do now that Teresa’s gone off and _abandoned_ him. Okay, so that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but ever since she met that guy at the gym, Thomas has barely seen her in their shared apartment. He only ever talks to her in the mornings when she comes home to collect more of her things to bring over to her new boyfriend’s place. Teresa’s had her fair share of guys in the past, but Thomas doesn’t think he’s ever seen her this into someone. If the fact that he _hasn’t_ seen her is any indication. 

So he’s more than a little surprised when he walks into the living room and finds her curled up on the couch, typing on her phone. Being on his own for the past few weeks must have done something to his manners, because the first words out of Thomas’ mouth are, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Teresa looks up at him. “I live here, idiot,” she replies, one eyebrow rising. 

Thomas snorts and flops down next to her. The couch is the one thing in their apartment both of them spent more than a few dollars on, and he pushes at her feet to give him more space. “Could’ve fooled me. I was about to start sending out roommate flyers.” 

“Aw, Tom,” Teresa coos. “Don’t tell me you actually miss me?” 

Thomas rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it. “Seriously, what are you doing here? I thought you’d be all shacked up in some love nest somewhere.” 

Teresa wrinkles her nose. “Way to make it sound creepy. We’re just getting to know each other, that’s all.” 

“I’m sure you know his body really well by now,” Thomas counters, laughing when Teresa punches him on the shoulder. “Okay, okay, so maybe I missed you a bit.” 

“I know, I suck,” Teresa concedes, but then a dreamy smile flits across her face. “But I can’t help it, you know? God, Tom, I’ve never felt this way about anyone.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I can practically see the hearts in your eyes,” Thomas replies dryly. “That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing back here.” 

“Um.” Teresa’s expression suddenly shifts, and Thomas finds himself growing wary. There’s something about the tone of her voice that suggests Thomas isn’t going to like what she has to say very much. “I need a favor.” 

“Oh, no,” Thomas says immediately, sitting upright. “There’s no way I’m getting you tampons again.” 

“That was _once_ ,” Teresa defends. “And you’d think working at a supermarket would give you enough of an idea about what they looked like!” 

“I will _never_ get over that old woman telling me about what kind she liked to use.” Thomas feels himself cringe at the force of _that_ memory. “It was the most traumatic experience of my life to date.” 

“You are such a drama queen,” Teresa mutters under her breath. Then she turns to face him, eyes wide. “That’s not what I was about to say.” 

Thomas narrows his eyes. “Okay, so what is it?” he asks carefully. 

Teresa exhales, then says in a rush, “So the guy I’m seeing, Minho, he’s got a roommate, and—” 

“Oh my God!” Thomas cries, cutting her off. “You’re trying to set me up!” He should have known this would have something to do with him. “Dude, I am not going on a date with another one of your friends.” 

“Come on, Tom!” Teresa argues. “He’s apparently really cute—” 

“ _Apparently?_ ” Thomas echoes in disbelief. “You’ve been spending all that time in their apartment and you haven’t even _seen_ the guy?” 

At this, Teresa flushes. “Well, I’ve got class the whole day, and at night, we’re, um.” If possible, her face turns an even deeper shade of red. “Occupied,” she finishes. 

“Oh, God,” Thomas groans, covering his ears with his hands. “Spare me the details of your sordid nighttime activities.” 

“You asked,” Teresa reminds him, pulling Thomas’ arms away from his head. “Seriously, Tom, when was the last time you got laid? And Aris doesn’t count.” 

“What?” Thomas gapes at her. “Why does he not count?” he demands. 

“Because he’s a creep?” Teresa shudders. “Ugh, I can’t believe you slept with him.” 

Thomas goggles her incredulously. “Teresa, _you_ slept with him. And after I did, I might add!” 

“Well, I just wanted to see if he was as good as everyone said!” she insists defensively. 

Thomas gives her another blank stare, but then curiosity gets the better of him. “So, was he?” 

“Oh, definitely,” Teresa responds empathetically, nodding her head. “But, uh, don’t tell Minho I said that.” 

Thomas shoots her a pointed look. “No problem there, seeing as I’ve never actually met the guy.” 

“If you’d just let me _finish_ ,” Teresa stresses, rolling her eyes, “I _was_ going to say that he wants us all to have dinner at his place next week.” 

“And trying to get me with his roommate is necessary because?” Thomas is all for getting to know the guy who now occupies ninety percent of his best friend’s time, but, seriously, there’s a reason he never dates. That being, he sucks at it. 

Teresa grins at him. “Just think of it as an added bonus?” She must notice the skeptical look on his face because her voice changes. “Please, Tom?” she asks, taking on the tone she uses on the poor guys who try and hit on her. Thomas has heard it before, but never directed at him. It’s fucking creepy. 

“Fine, fine,” he agrees reluctantly. He is so going to regret this, he knows it. “Just stop talking like that, I’m not one of your conquests.” 

“Yes!” Teresa squeals, leaning her head on Thomas’ shoulder, and he’s suddenly hit with just how much he’s actually missed her. “It’ll be great, you’ll see.” 

Thomas sincerely doubts that, but he doesn’t feel like ruining Teresa’s good mood. “Want to watch some bad TV?” he says instead, reaching for the remote lying on their coffee table. 

When they’ve finally agreed on a crappy reality show, Thomas leans back and lets the familiarity of the situation sink in, trying to shove everything else to the back of his head.

—

Sunday afternoon finds Thomas sorting through different boxes of cake mix, bored out of his mind. Teresa had gone back to Minho’s place the day before, and when Janson called and asked if he minded taking over for Winston, Thomas agreed in a momentary burst of desperation for something to do. But standing underneath the dim lighting and staring at the multicolored cardboard boxes in front of him, Thomas is starting to think he might have been better off just staying home. 

He’s halfway through devising a plan to steal one of these mixes when Sonya calls his name from behind. “Yeah?” he asks, turning around to face her, grateful for the distraction. 

“Um,” she says, wringing her hands together. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor?” She smiles at him hopefully. 

It’s the second time in less than forty-eight hours that those words have been directed at him, and Thomas wishes he could take back his initial relief at being interrupted from his work. At least cake never asked anything of him. But because he’s a nice guy and the world’s biggest sucker, against his better judgment, Thomas asks, “What is it?” 

“My girlfriend’s visiting this week and I need to pick her up from the airport,” Sonya explains. “Janson said if I could find someone to work the register for me, I could head out early.” 

Thomas has met Harriet, Sonya’s girlfriend, a bunch of times, and the two of them were quite possibly the cutest couple on the planet. Seeing them together was like being strangled by a litter of newborn kittens. If Thomas was any less of a person, he might’ve refused on the grounds that he had no actual experience using the cash register, but, well, true love and the possibility of getting action always comes first, he supposes. “I guess I can,” he sighs. At Sonya’s worried look, he rolls his eyes. “Seriously, get out of here,” he adds, nudging her. 

Sonya’s expression immediately brightens. “Thanks, Thomas!” She grins at him. “I owe you one.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, watching her walk towards the employee entrance. “Have fun getting laid!” he calls out. Sonya winks at him over her shoulder in response, then she opens the door and Thomas is left alone. 

Thomas makes his way over to the cash register, and when he looks down and finds himself staring blankly at a bunch of random buttons and switches, he realizes he forgot to ask Sonya how to use the damn thing. He surveys the empty shop, and into the silence, says, “Fuck.” 

Maybe he’ll just have to hope no one comes by for the rest of his shift.

—

Obviously, as with most things in his life, nothing goes according to plan. The next two hours have Thomas on his feet, furiously scanning everything the conveyor belt puts in front of him, mentally trying to calculate change when he gives up on using the computer entirely, and helping customers lug their purchases out to their cars. (Seriously, who buys five pounds of _carrots_?) Ten minutes before his shift ends, Thomas slumps down on the barstool beside the register, completely drained of energy. 

When the bell over the entrance dings, Thomas reluctantly pulls himself to his feet with a groan. Since the register’s at the back of the room, he doesn’t see who comes in, but he _really_ hopes it’s not another mom doing her weekly store runs. The idea of scanning another fifty items is making his head throb. 

The sound of something being dropped onto the conveyor shakes Thomas out of his thoughts, and when he turns the item over so he can find the barcode, he realizes he’s looking at a small box of condoms. Despite himself, Thomas winces internally. There had been an incident earlier with a middle-aged man making off with about six boxes of condoms and some whipped cream, sending Thomas an unsubtle wink as he left. 

“That’ll be three dollars and fifty cents,” Thomas says, looking up at his customer for the first time. And once he does, he nearly has to look down again because Hot Blonde Guy is standing right in front of him. 

Hot Blonde Guy is wearing a gray sweater that looks like it was hastily thrown on and his hair is all messed up like he’s just gotten out of bed. Thomas looks down at the condoms in his hand, and suddenly, everything clicks into place. Oh, God, Hot Blonde Guy is having sex with someone who _isn’t_ Thomas. 

For about a fraction of a second, Thomas seriously contemplates throwing the box to the ground and telling his (ex?) soulmate to go elsewhere. But then Hot Blonde Guy slides the exact amount across the counter towards Thomas, takes his purchase, and makes his way out the door, leaving Thomas staring after him in bewilderment. 

Thomas lowers himself back down onto the stool, mind buzzing. He hates that he’s not terribly surprised Hot Blonde Guy’s with someone. For God’s sake, just look at the guy. Despite this, Thomas still can’t help the indignation that flares up within him. _He_ should be the one pushing Hot Blonde Guy into his mattress, teeth sinking into his shoulder, hands gripping his hips. It’s completely ridiculous and illogical for Thomas to feel this way about someone he’s never even had a conversation with, but he can’t help it. (And, on a completely unrelated note, it _has_ been quite a while since Aris. He’s a college boy, sue him.) 

Fuck it. If Thomas is doomed to forever pine after this guy, then he’s not doing it from the back aisles. And there’s only one way to make sure he gets to see him again.

—

“So, about that favor you owe me,” Thomas drawls, sidling up to Sonya. He’s back to his regular Tuesday shift, and once again, they’re the only two employees on duty. 

“If you want to sleep on my couch, you’ll have to wait until Harriet’s gone,” Sonya replies automatically, not even bothering to look up from the magazine she’s flipping through. “She’s a screamer.” 

Thomas blinks at her. “I did _not_ need to know that, thanks.” For fuck’s sake, is everyone getting laid except him? “Scarring mental images aside, that’s not what I was going to say.” 

“Please,” Sonya snorts, finally turning to him. “Don’t act like you haven’t pictured it.” Thomas has, actually, but like he’s going to admit that _now_. “What’s up, then?” 

“Can I work the register again tonight?” Thomas asks, ending his question with what he hopes is a winning smile in an effort to evade possible questions. 

No dice. Sonya narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Why?”

“I’m not stealing money or anything if that’s what you’re thinking,” Thomas replies hurriedly. “I just, um, liked it. It was…fun.” 

“Fun,” Sonya repeats, doubt lacing her voice. She surveys him for a moment longer, then something appears to piece itself together in her mind. “Sure,” she says suddenly, surprising Thomas with her abrupt change in tone. “Harriet’s waiting for me, anyway.” 

“Yup.” Thomas tries not to let the obvious relief on his face show as he steers her towards the exit. “You don’t want to keep your girlfriend waiting, it’s rude.” 

“Have fun, then,” Sonya says, then she pauses with one hand on the door handle and turns back to smirk at him. “And if this has something to do with that blonde guy who comes in sometimes, I hope you get in there.” Thomas chokes on his own saliva in response, and Sonya walks away laughing. 

When she’s gone, Thomas makes his way behind the counter and attempts to make himself comfortable. Of course there’s no actual way of telling whether or not Hot Blonde Guy is going to show up tonight, but he’s willing to take that risk. Plus, as long as Harriet’s in town, Thomas isn’t going to have a hard time convincing Sonya to let him take over. 

It’s another long and grueling day behind the register, and Thomas is so busy that he almost forgets who it is he’s waiting for. When the clock in front of him ticks over to eleven, he’s just about accepted that Hot Blonde Guy isn’t going to show, but then the front door opens, and Thomas finds himself holding his breath. 

It seems as if his prayers have been answered, because Hot Blonde Guy is walking towards him, looking as disheveled as he did two days ago, and when he drops his purchase down onto the conveyer belt, Thomas finds himself looking at…another box of condoms. 

Look, Thomas is a professional and all, but this guy has just bought his _second_ box of condoms in _three_ days. It’s this startling realization that finally causes Thomas to lose his cool. “Seriously, dude?” he demands, an embarrassing mixture of awe and jealousy seeping its way into his voice. “How much are you getting _laid_?” 

Hot Blonde Guy stares back at him in response, and the silence between them lengthens until it starts to grow uncomfortable. Just as Thomas is beginning to wish the earth would open up beneath him, Hot Blonde Guy raises an eyebrow. “I had no idea the customer service policy here required employees to ask such personal questions,” he remarks slowly. 

“We don’t actually have one, if it makes you feel any better,” Thomas replies. “To be honest, I’m not completely sure this is a legitimate establishment,” he adds. When Hot Blonde Guy’s expression turns confused, Thomas shrugs. “Broke college student,” he says by way of explanation. 

“So you were _deliberately_ being nosy?” Hot Blonde Guy asks, and Thomas has to keep himself from falling over at the sheer beauty of his voice. Thomas could probably listen to it all day. 

“Just trying to give you props, man,” Thomas says, putting his hands in the air. “It seems like everyone I know is getting some kind of action recently except me.” 

Hot Blonde Guy huffs out a laugh and Thomas wonders how obvious the heart eyes he’s making at him are. “You can remove me from that list, then.” He picks up the box of condoms and brandishes it at Thomas. “These are for my flatmate.” 

“Your…flatmate?” Thomas echoes, trying not to let his grin grow too wide. 

The smirk that forms on Hot Blonde Guy’s face tells him that he’s failed miserably. Considering the conversation (conversation!) they’re having, Thomas can’t find it in himself to care much. “My lovely flatmate and his new girlfriend have taken over our apartment, and I’m stuck going on condom runs for him because he’s too wrapped up in her to do them himself.” 

Thomas winces. “That sucks, dude.” At least Teresa has the decency to do her business somewhere else. There are probably some things best friends don’t need to know about each other. 

“You cannot imagine how little sleep I’ve gotten,” Hot Blonde Guy intones. “I look like a bloody zombie.” 

“Hottest zombie I’ve ever seen.” It takes an embarrassingly long time for Thomas to realize he says this out loud. But watching the faint blush that spreads across Hot Blonde Guy’s face, Thomas finds that he doesn’t regret it. 

“Do you—” Hot Blonde Guy starts, but the rest of his question gets drowned out by the ringing of his cellphone. With an apologetic glance in Thomas’ direction, he grabs his phone from his back pocket. “That’ll be my flatmate,” he tells Thomas. “He always did have the best timing.” He taps something on his screen and presses the phone to his ear. “Yeah, shank, I’m coming,” he says to someone on the other end. “Slim yourself, will you?” 

When he clicks off, he rolls his eyes at Thomas. “Duty calls,” he deadpans, saluting Thomas with the box of condoms. “See you around, Tommy.” 

Thomas is pretty sure his name tag still had _Thomas_ scrawled on it when he left for work this afternoon, but if the love of his life wants to give him a nickname, who is he to turn that down? Once he’s alone, Thomas lets out an exhilarated sigh and leans against the register. He can’t wait to tell Sonya about this.

—

Minho turns out to be a rather fit Asian guy with dark hair and an infectious grin. He greets Teresa by pulling her into a quick kiss, then turns towards Thomas and offers a hand out for him to shake. Eyeing his biceps surreptitiously, Thomas is almost tempted to get back at Teresa for sleeping with Aris, but squashes that thought down before it becomes an actual plan. 

Seeing the way Minho looks at Teresa, Thomas thinks he could probably do away with the whole hurt-her-and-I’ll-kill-you talk. He’s had to give enough of those speeches over the course of their friendship, and they’ve never ended very well for his ego. Or his face for that matter. On more than one occasion, that attempt had actually devolved more into a we’re-just-best-friends-I’m-actually-really-gay-not-that-Teresa-isn’t-beautiful-no-I-didn’t-mean-it-that-way-please-don’t-punch-me talk. Moments like those are probably his least favorite thing about having a girl for a best friend. 

“You’re right, T, he is pretty cute,” Minho states, grinning at Thomas once they’re seated around his living room. 

_T?_ Thomas mouths at Teresa when Minho isn’t looking. He can feel the laughter threatening to burst out of him.

Teresa rolls her eyes. _Just go with it_ , she mouths back. 

“So, uh,” Thomas starts. “Where _is_ your roommate?” he asks, surveying the rest of the apartment like he expects the guy to suddenly materialize in front of him. 

“Oh, his class just ended,” Minho replies, checking his phone. “He should be home soon, I think you’ll like him.” 

Thomas plasters a smile on his face. “Yeah, I hope so.” Across the room, Teresa beams at him. God, he should win some kind of friendship award for this. 

Just then, the front door opens, and Minho yells, “Fucking finally!” From the entrance hall, Thomas hears the sound of a voice answering back. “The bloody bus was delayed, calm down.” 

“Right,” Minho says, getting to his feet, and Thomas and Teresa trail after him. Teresa’s smiling at Thomas encouragingly, and he suppresses an eye roll. He just hopes that whatever train wreck is about to take place isn’t going to dampen her relationship with Minho. “Guys, this is Newt. Newt, meet Thomas and Teresa.” 

Thomas hears footsteps make their way into the living room, and Minho’s roommate slowly walks into view. “Hi, nice to finally meet...” He sees Thomas standing there in shock and his greeting trails off. “Oh, bloody hell.” 

“What the fuck?” All in all, Thomas has no idea why he’s so surprised, considering how much of a joke his life has been recently. “Your name is _Newt_?” he demands, eyes locked on Hot Blonde Guy. “What kind of name is _that_?” 

“His parents are scientists,” Minho interjects automatically, as if this is something he’s grown used to having to explain. “Wait,” he says suddenly, seeming to come to his senses. “You two know each other?” He looks back and forth between Thomas and Hot Bl—Newt in puzzlement.

“Tom, you never mentioned a Newt to me before,” Teresa adds, looking at him accusingly. Thomas is almost a little offended. As if he’d ever hide knowing a guy who looked like Newt from his best friend. (Actually, after the Aris thing, he should probably start.) 

“We’ve met,” Thomas says shortly. His mind is at a complete standstill, his brain still trying to process the million different things that are currently running through it. 

Minho still looks skeptical. “How—”

“He’s the guy I’ve been buying all your bloody condoms from,” Newt cuts in. Seeing Minho and Teresa’s twin mortified looks, his mouth curls into a smirk. “That enough of an explanation for you?”

Teresa recovers from the embarrassment first. She chances one last glance at Thomas and Newt, who are still staring at each other, then clears her throat. “So,” she says brightly. “Dinner?”

—

Dinner is filled with as much sexual tension as Thomas expected. The one thing he did not expect, however, was for that sexual tension to come from all sides of the table, rather than just from Minho and Teresa. 

It doesn’t take very long for Minho to start dropping subtle hints and for Teresa to start giggling like a schoolgirl. It takes an even shorter amount of time for the two of them to make some pathetic excuse and disappear off to Minho’s room down the hall. 

“Well,” Newt says slowly once they’re alone, “I don’t think they’ll be coming back.” 

“Wouldn’t count on it,” Thomas agrees. The electricity in the air is almost tangible, and he wonders if Newt can feel it, too. The two of them had spent most of dinner bantering back and forth, and Thomas doesn’t think he can stand being in the same room as the guy without doing something rash. Like jumping him. 

As he’s coming up with a suitable excuse to leave, Newt’s voice breaks into his inner monologue. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

And Thomas says yes, because he doesn’t think he’d ever be able to forgive himself for answering with anything else.

—

“What do you mean you’ve never seen _The Godfather_?” Newt asks tonelessly, holding the remote in one hand and a can of beer in the other. 

Thomas takes a swig from his own drink before replying. “I just never had the time to see it,” he defends in the face of Newt’s disbelieving stare. “I heard it’s pretty great, though?” he offers in a sad attempt to win back some of Newt’s respect. 

“Oh, you poor uncultured soul,” Newt quips, leaning forward and grabbing his laptop off a desk. “Prepare to be educated.” He plugs his computer into the television in front of them, then pushes himself off the couch and grabs another six-pack from the fridge. 

Thomas rolls his eyes. “You know, if you wanted to watch this movie, you could have just said so.” 

Newt sets the beer down on the table in front of them, then returns to his seat. Thomas hopes he’s not imagining the fact that Newt’s sitting a lot closer to him than he was five minutes ago. “Believe me, Tommy,” he says, looking Thomas in the eye. “You’ll thank me for this one day.” Then he starts the movie. 

It’s an interesting kind of torture, sitting pressed against the guy he’s been obsessing over for months in a dim room while the sound of gunfire rings loud and clear from the screen. There are entirely too many characters for Thomas to remember, and the fact that Newt takes his time to explain each of their roles, his breath fanning across Thomas’ face every time he leans in to make a comment, _really_ doesn’t help matters. 

In order to gain some sort of control over himself, Thomas takes to drinking copious amounts of beer. By the time Michael’s wandering around the fields of Sicily on a self-imposed exile, Thomas is loose-limed and lightheaded, the glow from the television washing over him and painting the room in the bright colors of a summer day. 

Thomas has no idea what compels him to do so, but he tears his eyes away from the screen, and he’s surprised to find Newt staring back at him with an unreadable look on his face. Time stops and everything around them contracts, trapping them in a space only the two of them fill. Thomas has no idea who leans in first. Maybe he did, maybe Newt did, maybe they met somewhere in the middle. All he knows is, he’s suddenly being pinned to the couch, Newt’s lips on his and Newt’s hands on his hips, and he never wants to let go. 

He has no idea how long they go on kissing for, but when Newt finally breaks his hold on Thomas, his lips are swollen beyond belief and his pupils are the size of saucers. “So, uh,” Newt whispers, head dipping back down press a kiss to the side of Thomas’ neck. “I have this plan,” he says, maneuvering their bodies so that he’s straddling Thomas. “To get back at Minho and Teresa for keeping me up all those nights.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Thomas grins up at him, one hand coming up to tangle his fingers in Newt’s hair. “What exactly would this plan involve?” 

“Not much,” Newt replies, rolling their hips together. “Just you, me, and a few of those condoms I bought yesterday.” 

Thomas feels his breath hitch when Newt’s lips come into contact with his neck once again. “Sounds great,” he manages to say. “I’m not much of a screamer, though.” 

Newt immediately pins Thomas’ arms back down on the couch, hovering over him with a glint in his eyes. “Well then.” The look on his face sends a flash of heat running through Thomas’ body. “I guess we’ll have to do something about that.”

—

There’s a note shoved underneath Newt’s bedroom door when Thomas stumbles out of bed the next morning. The slight pounding in his head is enough to make him regret volunteering for the morning shift at work, but upon reading the piece of paper in front of him, written in what he supposes is Minho’s messy scrawl, he suddenly feels a million times better. 

_Well played, assholes. Surprised your dicks haven’t fallen off._

Thomas lets out a soft laugh before placing the note on Newt’s bedside table so he’ll be sure to see it when he wakes up. Taking one last look at the unconscious Newt and the rumpled sheets around him, Thomas walks out the door, grinning all the while.

—

Work that day is absolutely brutal. Thomas _cannot_ keep his eyes open, and when he finds himself nodding off while trying to price canned goods, he considers just taking a nap on the floor right then. 

The sudden buzz of his phone startles him out of his daze, and after carefully peering around to make sure Janson doesn’t catch him using his phone on the job (not that he'd care), Thomas opens up the message, smile growing when he sees that it’s from Newt. 

_It seems as if we’re out of condoms_ , the text reads. Then, right as Thomas is about to reply, another one comes through. _And lube. You might want to get more._

_What for?_ Thomas types carefully, trying to ignore the warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach. 

_For later._ Newt’s reply is only two words long, but Thomas figures they’re enough to keep him going for the rest of his shift. Taking one last look at the text displayed onscreen, Thomas tucks his phone into his pocket and goes back to his work, Newt’s answer circling around in his mind like a promise. 

This, Thomas decides, is the beginning of how he falls in love.


End file.
